Even Lightning Needs to Rest
by Candaru
Summary: It's a rule that Percy can't ask Ramsey for help after 9:00. So when she barges into his cell at 2:30 AM for an appraisal, he knows something must be up. (Oneshot, sleep-deprived!Percy, platonic Percy & Ramsey, no shipping, rated T for safety.)


(A/N: Inspired by a tumblr thread on epitheterasedgen!)

* * *

Percy never came in after 9:00.

This, along with several other reasonable demands, was something Ramsey had stated clear and up-front that he would not compromise on. The man liked his sleep— he liked it even more now that he was comfortable and safe in a cell Zora had yet to pinpoint— and Percy, who was a firm advocate in taking care of oneself, had willingly obliged.

And yet, here she was, rapping on the cell bars at 2:30 in the morning, a golden statue in her left hand.

"Wh?" Ramsey mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and hoping to whatever was out there that he was just having a bad dream. It took him ages to fall back asleep once he was up. "Whoosere?"

"It's just me," a friendly, apologetic voice replied. It was a little deeper than he remembered, and Ramsey had to fully wake himself up to affirm that it was indeed Percy speaking. There was a beat.

"Ugh," he mumbled, pulling the pillow over his face. "It can_not_ be time to get up yet. Please tell me you only came this early to congratulate me on my parole."

"Unfortunately, no" Percy sighed, unlocking the front of the cell with a jingling of keys and stepping inside. Ramsey sat up slightly in alarm, setting down the pillow beside him. She usually didn't come _inside_ the cell.

"So whatssa big deal?" Ramsey asked, a hint of concern in his voice. "You do know I can appraise any object through the bars."

"I just want to be sure," Percy sighed. "This is a… rather important case. Headquarters wants it completely shelved by tomorrow afternoon." She paused to pull an overflowing manilla folder out from under her arm, squinting at it with almost comical disdain. "Unfortunately, we're nowhere close to solving it."

Ramsey fumbled to quickly catch the statue, which was half-handed, half-thrown to him without warning. It occurred to him that that was very uncharacteristic of the normally meticulous cop.

"This _is_ real, correct?" she asked, a hint of hopefulness in her voice. What answer she was hoping for, Ramsey didn't know. But it didn't take him long to find out. With a glow of his fingers, he concentrated on the object, not even bothering to look at it in the dim light of the cell. When he felt no effect from his epithet, he tossed it back to the officer, almost knocking her over in the process.

"Yep," he replied nonchalantly, "That there's the real deal."

Percy sighed. Apparently not the answer she was hoping for.

"Thank you," she acknowledged anyhow. "I know we made a pact not to disturb you during your slumber, but… it was of utmost importance."

"Hey, no problem," Ramsey replied, letting his empathy for the woman's tired voice outweigh his annoyance. "I'm the only one you can trust with that stuff 'round here, anyways."

He laughed at his little joke, then paused when he saw Percy staring blankly down at the folder in her hands. "Hey, uh… Perce?"

The woman almost seemed to jolt out of a sleep herself, clearly dazed. "Ah! Yes?"

"Are you… are you gonna be up _all night_ working on that?"

Percy looked back down at the papers and laughed— the kind of good-natured, 'don't worry about me' laugh that Ramsey hated.

"I've already been up a number of nights trying to solve it. I apologize for not coming sooner, but, well… deadlines for other projects kept interfering-"

"Hey," Ramsey interrupted, suddenly standing to put a hand on her shoulder. "You're lookin' a little frazzled. Wanna take a nap before you get back to work?"

Percy shook her head violently, clutching the manilla folder tighter to her chest. "Oh, no, no, that's simply not possible. While of course I'd love to, time is of the essence, and while I still have stamina left I must…"

"You really don't look like you've got any stamina to me," Ramsey said gently, pushing her shoulder down and forcing her to sit on the edge of his bed. Percy blinked, probably startled at how easily he was able to overcome her. She really _was_ weak.

Ah, well, that cinched it. Unfortunately.

"How's about you let me take a look at that folder," he asked (well, more "commanded"), reaching out and prying the papers from her hand. She tried to hold her grip, and wobbled slightly from the effort. But it was easy to take them in her weakened state, and now that his eyes were finally adjusting to the dimness, he was able to make out at least the largest prints on each paper that filled the stack.

"George Thomson— oh, that's an alias," he said immediately, looking at the mugshot of a young man with a frown on his face.

Percy's frown mirrored his own. "No, it's not. We checked all his I.D. with police records, of course, and—"

"Then he stole the I.D.," Ramsey quipped back. "Ah, that makes sense. The good old swap'n'drop. The real George Thomson is going to have a heck of a time cleaning up his records after this, I'll tell you that much."

"What?" was all that Percy could manage back. Ramsey shook his head and clucked his tongue.

"Clearly, you are not at full working capacity. You need to get some sleep."

"But—" Percy started.

She didn't get any further, because Ramsey stepped off the bed and gently pushed her downwards, easily overwhelming her thanks to her almost-drained stamina pool. She tried to fight him, but her eyes flickered quickly as she was pushed onto her side, failing to ward off the tiredness that was had evidently developed over several nights.

"Headquarters said we had t-to get this finished by… by noon…" she protested weakly, eyes now flickering almost entirely shut. How many people got to see her in such a vulnerable state, Ramsey couldn't help but wonder.

"It'll be finished," he assured her. "Ya woke me up and now I ain't gettin' back to sleep; may as well do a little light reading 'til daybreak."

Percy mumbled something in response, but by now it was completely incoherent. Her head lay smushed on the single pillow that adorned the mattress; Ramsey lifted her slightly so as to take the blanket from under her feet and put that over her, too.

"Okay, Copper," he said with a smirk as he brushed a lock of hair out of her baggy eyes. "Sleepy time."

Percy either gave up or had no strength left to resist, as she lay still on the mattress, not replying.

After a beat, Ramsey yawned and cracked his knuckles, absentmindedly noticing the still-open cell door before turning his attention back to the case files at hand.

"Alright, Ramsey," he whispered to himself, "let's show the boys in blue what a true ex-convict can do."

* * *

The panic around the jail the next morning was completely worth staying up for.

It was about 6:00 when Ramsey first heard one of the police officers (he was pretty sure his name was Brad) shouting for Percy down the hall. Apparently, they'd expected her not only to have that monster of a case file finished by noon, but to come in for the early shift, too.

"And they call _me_ a criminal?" Ramsey muttered under his breath. He then smiled as he heard Brad's cries grow louder and louder, awakening some of the other (rather grumpy) inmates down the hall.

The best part of all was that the fool didn't even check the entire area before radioing for backup— apparently assuming Percy had gotten to her shift early and something had happened— so by the time the police made it all the way to Ramsey's cell, there were a good five or six of them huddled in a group with their tasers and peashooters drawn.

And oh, what a sight it must've been when they did make it.

For there, in the last and biggest cell at the end of the hall, the barred door was swung wide open, the sunlight from the single window streaming through. On the single mattress in the back lay the missing Percival King, sound asleep and peaceful as an angel.

And there, in the middle of the cell, was Ramsey Murdoch, case papers strewn all around him like a crazy conspiracy theorist, grinning and looking as proud as a kid who'd just discovered their epithet.

"Heya, coppers," he greeted, extending his arm with a practiced smirk. "Need a hand?"


End file.
